“Sometimes we feel like our work is draining our energy and we can only move forward if we put more and more energy into it. But sometimes it is the opposite. Once we get into the workflow, it is as if the work itself gains momentum, pulling us along and sometimes even energizing us. This is the kind of dynamic we are looking for.” -Sönke Ahrens
We all know that feeling when an idea or project takes on a life and energy of its own. This can feel elusive and magical, perhaps the product of luck, and therefore outside of our control or influence, but there are ways to shape this kind of creative momentum. I wrote recently about showing up for our work consistently, laying out how this foundational principle primes our practice, clearing and maintaining space for good things to happen. This week I’d like to talk about another kind of momentum, one that is generated by the ideas and projects that emerge within the container of regular practice.
While the kind of momentum that Ahrens writes about sometimes develops spontaneously, it’s possible to purposefully enter and develop our creative work in a way that increases the chance of the work producing energy instead of only consuming energy. The metaphor of a flywheel is helpful here. A flywheel is a heavy metal disc on an axle designed to store rotational energy. My (very limited) understanding is that in a combustion car engine, a flywheel stores and transfers energy between the engine and the transmission, evening out the electrical pulses and allowing it to run smoothly and efficiently. It absorbs and releases energy as needed while helping to maintain momentum. That’s the basic idea. And I think this is essentially what is happening when we find ourselves engaged with a project that seems to sweep us along with its own energy: we have created what is called a “flywheel effect”.
How can we intentionally apply this concept to our practice?
A flywheel is circular, so a circular, cyclical structure is necessary. If we want energetic efficiency, our effort should feed back into the system and continue moving in a cycle instead of terminating at endpoints or blocks. One thing should always lead to another thing, with a sense of inevitability. Think in terms of: “If I do ___, then ___ is likely.” First, decide on an entry point. It could be almost anything, so I’ll just call it “A”.
If I do A, then B is likely.
If B happens, C is likely.
If C happens, I naturally want to do more of A.
For example, you walk to the flower market. Which inspires you to buy flowers and take them to your studio. You are inspired and motivated to photograph those flowers as they bloom and fade, which you do, and are then excited to visit the market again the next week and start the process over again. Something as simple as a weekly visit to the flower market can trigger a cycle of production that, over time, will produce an entire body of work.
A flywheel is heavy; it relies on its mass to store energy and maintain momentum, so beginning to turn it takes a lot of effort. For this reason, it’s important to choose an entry point with very little friction–probably something that we are already interested in and want to do, like visiting a flower market! We push, and at first, it barely moves. We might doubt the potential of our idea. We push again and again. It turns once, then twice, and it’s still pretty hard to push, but it’s getting easier. It moves faster, with more ease, each turn requiring less effort. As we push consistently, it continues to build energy and momentum. Eventually, it takes off and moves powerfully in the direction we have chosen. A virtuous cycle is created, making our work feel effortless. Making art gives us constant feedback, so part of the key here is to be alert and make adjustments, shifting our approach to harmonize and feed back into the system. Over time, we learn to align our actions with the direction of the work, creating a powerful synergistic momentum.
And look out, because a project that has gathered a lot of energy will throw off sparks! Try to capture any that feel like they have potential. Often, in my practice, a spark from one project becomes the entry point to my next flywheel.
Once the artmaking flywheel is turning fast enough, it does not require much energy from us to maintain its momentum. It “pulls us along” with life and energy of its own. At this point our job is to feel into the current of our project, give it what it needs to maintain itself, and make our work.
What about you? Have you experienced the flywheel effect in your own practice? Was it by design or accident? What did you discover? Let us know in the comments!
Until next week,